


tired, grumpy, and oh, very horny: a story about how (not) to get coffee

by Winchester_of_the_lord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Cock Ring, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Edging, Gay Sex, Husbands, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post Season 15, Rimming, Teasing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Vibrator, overly cheesy, soft dom!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_of_the_lord/pseuds/Winchester_of_the_lord
Summary: Cas licks his lips, then draws his bottom lip in between his teeth, probably contemplating what to do next. He slowly lets go of Dean’s wrists above his head, and leans forward once more, propping himself on his hands next to Dean’s shoulders. “Keep them right where they are. Don’t-” he bites down onto Dean’s earlobe “-move. Do you understand?”Dean manages an eager nod, eyeing the glistening lips of his husband, now hovering right above his face. Those fucking lips have always been his weak spot, and Cas knows it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 31
Kudos: 285





	tired, grumpy, and oh, very horny: a story about how (not) to get coffee

**Author's Note:**

> soooo, this was actually supposed to be a very short and easy smut fic to have some happy and simple stuff to distract me from writing my monster long fic, but it kinda escalated....   
> huge thanks to Flo, Anna, and Maj for reading, commenting, and cheering - I couldn't have finished this thing without your help <3

Dean wakes up rather uncomfortably. A slack hand had been slapped across his face, and ripped him mercilessly from his land of dreams. It lies dead-fish-like on his cheek, squashing his lips. 

  


The problem is, he’s too tired. Way too tired, actually. Too tired to move away from under the hand, or to shove said hand off of his face. Hell, he’s even too tired to open his eyes. For a deep groan, however, he isn’t too tired. Sadly, that doesn’t really help his situation, or make him feel any better. 

  


“Cash...” he manages to mumble into the fingers covering his mouth. “Wousha mind?”

  


The man attached to the slack hand stirs slightly, sheets rustling in the process. The hand is slowly drawn back from Dean’s face, dragged across his nose, one finger getting caught in the corner of Dean’s mouth before it eventually thuds down onto the mattress between their heads.

  


“Thnkyou,” Dean mutters and internally curses the person who’d thought it would be a great idea to play babysitter for the two impish brats of his brother and his wife while the happy parents were out on their date night.

  


Oh, right. That would’ve been him.

  


_ Dammit _ .

  


His brother’s kids are, without any doubt, little angels. But they’re apparently feeding on the energy of adults at the same time. They’re basically like changelings. Sans the disturbing teeth and hollow eye sockets. But still. Looking after them felt worse than three days of being drained by a djinn. Especially after  _ someone _ had the next glorious idea and had given them energy drinks two hours before their usual bedtime.

  


Which had also been Dean.

  


_ Dammit squared. _

  


Without the intrusive presence on his face, it takes only a few minutes, and sleep is just about to pull him back into relieving unconsciousness when the body next to him stirs again. Something unintelligible is mumbled into the pillow, not more than a muffled hum.

  


Cas is lying on his stomach, his face pressed into the bedding, but he seems to realize he’d have to stop speaking right into the pillow to be understood. “Coffee,” is everything the still mostly-asleep man can manage before his face flops down again.

  


“Yes, please.” Dean groans. He’s aware that his husband’s statement was more of a demand than an offer, but it’s worth a try, right?

  


He gets a growled “your turn” as an answer.

  


“You want coffee, you get up.”

  


“No.”

  


Isn’t there a rule or something that there’s always gotta be one early bird in a relationship? Maybe that rule doesn’t apply to a former Angel of the Lord and an ex hunter.

  


“Go”, Cas grumbles next to Dean. Everything angelic Cas might have possessed once is apparently long gone, Dean realizes, as he blinks his eyes a crack open and squints at his husband who is drooling very gracefully onto his pillow. 

  


“‘m too tired,” Dean croaks and closes his eyes again, hoping to drift off once more, and maybe wake up feeling a little less like having been hit by a truck.

  


About five more seconds pass in peaceful silence until his pillow gets snatched away from under his head in a surprisingly quick motion.

  


“Yeah, that definitely motivated me to get you coffee.” If Dean’s eyes weren’t still closed, his eye-roll would be award-worthy. Cas may be stubborn, but so is Dean. The pillowless man pulls his blanket closer around his body and tries to get comfortable on the bare mattress. Who needs a pillow anyway.

  


Cas lets out a deep, frustrated sigh. Dean is damn sure that Cas is currently sporting his trademark smiting face, but luckily his eyes are still closed, so he doesn’t have to see the wrath of the former angel being aimed at him.

  


He can feel it, however, as the pillow gets smashed right into his face.

  


No, Cas really isn’t much of a morning person.

  


But neither is Dean, and vengeance is sweet, as the saying goes, so he grabs the pillow from his face and hurls it to where he assumes Cas’s head must be. The pillow hits the target perfectly and elicits a surprised  _ hmmpf.  _ Maybe less surprised, more annoyed. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

  


“I hate you,” says the grumpy, dark mop of hair that peeks out from under the pillow next to Dean.

  


“No, you don’t.”

  


“Yes, I do.” The pillow flies back to Dean’s face, followed by a heavy weight rolling on top of his entire body, pushing the air out of his lungs. Yet, his legs open up on their own accord, enough for Cas to lie in between them.

  


“Cmph ymh phtpphh-” Flailing around with his arms in a desperate attempt to get rid of the suffocating cloth covering his head, both his wrists get caught by two strong hands pinning him down on the mattress. He keeps swearing muffled curses into the pillow and tries to fight back against the dead weight on top of him. To no avail.

  


Both of Dean’s arms get shifted above his head and then taken in only one of his husband’s hands, rendered immobile in a tight grip. How Cas can be that tired and at the same time that ridiculously strong will always remain a mystery to Dean.

  


At last, the pillow moves off of his face, revealing Cas’s smug smirk of victory Dean hates so much. Okay, yes, he loves it, but he’d never let Cas (or anyone else for that matter) know that. The guy’s far too self-satisfied for Dean’s liking already. No need to encourage him even more by admitting how much this act of dominance turns Dean on. Cas most likely knows it anyway.

  


And Dean’s body has always been a mean little traitor when it comes to keeping his affection towards Cas a secret, and now a certain body part in his lower region takes a sudden proactive interest in their newly acquired position on the bed.

  


Of course, that doesn’t go unnoticed by the man who’s now straddling said lower region. And of course, the smirk becomes even more smug as Cas starts gyrating his hips, slowly grinding against the increasingly hardening length inside Dean’s boxer briefs.

  


Cas trails his free hand from Dean’s hipbone along the side of his ribs, and up to his nipple, where he traps it between his index and thumb, giving it a sharp pinch, and causing Dean’s breath to hitch in a soft gasp. His mind is still clouded with fatigue and drowsiness, but with every grind of Cas’s erection against Dean’s own, with every flick of a teasing fingertip over the hard nub on his chest, he feels more and more awake.

  


“You just gonna keep teasing me until I get you coffee?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow and cants his hips to meet one of his husband’s slow thrusts, eliciting a satisfied, breathy groan, blue eyes fluttering closed for a second. With a sly smirk, he adds, “Or is this enough to wake you up?”

  


His husband tilts his head and squints while letting out an overly contemplative hum. The slow drag of their cocks starts to get uncomfortable with too many layers between them - yes, two layers are two too many - and Dean really wishes for Cas to choose the latter option. For the time being, he just hopes that he won’t have to move too much. He’s still goddamn tired after all.

  


Apparently having made his decision, Castiel leans forward with a pleased grin playing on his lips, meeting the skin on the side of Dean’s neck in a soft brush. He breathes teasingly against the shell of Dean’s ear, teeth grazing across the lobe, and inhales.

  


A shiver spreads from Dean’s ear across his neck, then down his spine at the prickling sensation of his husband’s hungry whispering into his ear. “I think-” he feels a hot, wet tongue licking at his pulse point, causing another shiver, intensified by another pinch of his nipple and the scrape of Castiel’s stubble against the tender skin below his ear “-coffee can wait a little longer. Don’t you agree?”

  


“Fuck, yes.” 

  


Cas hums approvingly. “That’s the plan.”

  


No matter how many times Dean has seen Cas, there has yet to come a time where the sight of him doesn’t amaze him. Both men prefer sleeping without a shirt, usually going to bed naked, or wearing only their boxer briefs, so Dean has an unhindered view on his husband’s chiseled chest, the Enochian tattoo on the side of his ribs, and his muscular stomach, only slightly softened over the years after he found out that Dean wasn’t lying about the awesomeness of pie. 

  


Cas licks his lips, then draws his bottom lip in between his teeth, probably contemplating what to do next. He slowly lets go of Dean’s wrists above his head, and leans forward once more, propping himself on his hands next to Dean’s shoulders. “Keep them right where they are. Don’t-” he bites down onto Dean’s earlobe “-move. Do you understand?”

  


Dean manages an eager nod, eyeing the glistening lips of his husband, now hovering right above his face. Those fucking lips have always been his weak spot, and Cas knows it.

  


He smirks mischievously as he meets Dean’s eyes, wets his lips again before he brings them down to press a greedy kiss on Dean’s mouth at the same time his hips thrust forward. “Verbal confirmation, Dean, you know the rules.”

  


“Yes, Castiel. I understand.” So, it’s gonna be one of these mornings, then. Dean is absolutely, and entirely game with this. Not that he doesn’t like their vanilla sex, but it’s been a while since Cas has let his more dominant side control their bedroom activities. He grabs his left wrist with his right hand to keep himself from moving and takes a deep breath.

  


“Good boy,” Castiel growls into his ear. If Dean hadn’t been rock hard already, he would be now. Cas certainly knows how to push his husband’s buttons to drive him crazy in the best possible way.

  


The next kiss is a lot more heated than the previous one. Dean opens his mouth happily when Castiel’s tongue licks at the seam of his lips, asking for - no,  _ demanding _ \- entrance, morning breath be damned. It earns him another appreciative hum - fuel for the part of him that wants to be subordinate to Cas entirely.

  


They both enjoy these occasions. A lot. They have sex fairly often, but they don’t always have the time or energy for their kinkier needs. Dean is almost vibrating with anticipation now, as their last scene had been almost five weeks ago. Between their new jobs, babysitting their niece and nephew, and having an actual social life, they don’t always find the time to indulge in their more interesting, more time-consuming, more intense moments.

  


The last vestige of tiredness disappears into thin air.

  


Cas brings his right hand to Dean’s cheek, leaning mostly onto his left while keeping the lazy thrusts against Dean’s groin, and kisses him again. Dean doesn’t even try to dominate the drag of their tongues against each other, even though a tiny part of him  _ wants  _ to risk a punishment for his bratty behavior. But letting Cas be in control gives him the opportunity to forget about everything for a while - his duties, responsibilities, and worries - so he’s more than willing to pass over the reigns.

  


The next hum merges into more of a groan when Dean nibbles on Cas’s lower lip, the hand cradling Dean’s cheek moving down to the side of his neck, to his shoulder, up to his bicep, his forearm, then stopping, apparently remembering the command he gave Dean to keep his hands in place. Instead, Cas’s hand finds its way to Dean’s chest again.

  


Moving away from Dean’s mouth, Cas lets his lips wander down his jaw, nipping and biting at every inch he passes, leaving wet trails along his neck. He sucks hard, right above Dean’s collar bone, as his fingers find Dean’s nipple again.

  


Another aroused groan escapes Dean’s throat. He feels Castiel smiling against the red mark he just left on his neck before he bites down on the exact same spot, creating a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, endorphins going wild inside Dean’s brain.

  


Cas keeps rolling Dean’s nipple between his fingers as he slowly makes his way down his chest, licking, and biting, and kissing every piece of skin he can reach. When he finally gets to Dean’s other nipple, he pulls it between his teeth, giving it one sharp bite that has Dean taking a hissed inhale, then licks it once in a soothing motion.

  


“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” Castiel mumbles against Dean’s skin.

  


Dean tries not to - they’ve had this conversation one too many times already - but he tenses up, screwing his eyes shut, and turning his head to the side in his attempt to hide his burning face in the pillow. 

  


Cas moves back up to his head in an instant, grabs his chin, and forces Dean to meet his eyes. “I know you don’t believe me, but you are,” he says in a steady, deep voice, slightly out of breath due to his state of arousal. “Say it.”

  


Dean hesitates. He tries to close his eyes, but Cas’s grip goes from firm to painful. “I’m… I-” He can’t finish. He wants to, really, but he can’t. He knows he’s attractive, that’s not the problem. He knows people still turn around after him, admiring his handsome face, his charming smile, his strong and broad shoulders. But he also knows that this is not what Cas was talking about.

  


Cas is talking about  _ him  _ \- not his appealing physique, despite being on the wrong side of forty these days. Right now his husband is talking about the person behind the physical beauty, his soul if you will. He may not be able to see it anymore, not in the way he used to as an angel, but somehow he still does. Or at least he pretends to, believes to. He’s always seen Dean as more than he is. 

  


But in spite of their four years of marriage, another two of being in a committed relationship before tying the knot, and eleven years of sharing a profound bond prior to that, Dean has a hard time allowing himself to believe how greatly Castiel thinks of him. He’s just not… worth it.

  


“Dean.” One word, so many emotions. But Cas doesn’t have to say more. He patiently waits for Dean to repeat the statement, his head tilted, his eyes insistent, and yet so soft, so passionate, so loving, so goddamn blue that Dean could drown in them, not needing to breathe underwater, because Castiel is everything he needs to live.

  


Dean closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He wants to say it, wants to be a good boy for Cas, knows that Cas needs it as much as Dean does for himself. “I-” He’s had to say it so many times over the years, why is it still one of the most difficult things for Dean to do? He’s an adult, a grown-ass man, why can’t he say it? He swallows, opens his eyes to find Cas still looking at him. “You- you think I’m beautiful,” he finally whispers, releasing the air from his lungs as controlled as possible, and lowering his eyes, away from Cas’s.

  


“I do,” Cas says and kisses Dean softly before he continues, “but that’s not what I said. I don’t just  _ think  _ you’re beautiful, Dean. You  _ are  _ beautiful.” His thumb grazes gently over Dean’s cheek, but his hips aren’t moving anymore. Friction is a reward, and Dean knows he has to earn it.

  


Hell, he  _ wants  _ to earn it. He wants Cas to be proud of him, wants to be  _ good. _ He screws his eyes shut once more to gather some courage before he quietly, if a little rushed, says, “I’m beautiful.”

  


“Good. Boy.” Castiel’s praise is worth everything. “You’re doing so well, Dean,” Cas commends, and starts dragging his hard cock against Dean’s again, swallowing his moan with his lips and tongue.

  


But Dean craves something else, too, needs to be filled with more than just praise and his husband’s scent. Needs the two unnecessarily remaining layers gone. Needs to take. Needs to give. Needs to  _ touch. _

  


So he moves one of his hands up to cradle Cas’s cheek, the other toying with the soft hair curling in the nape of Cas’s neck to pull him even closer into the kiss - only to feel Cas going rigid against him. No more much-needed friction, no more kissing. What did he do wr-

  


Within a fraction of a second, Cas has Dean’s wrists pinned in a slightly too tight grip.  _ Oh shit.  _ There’s fire in Cas’s eyes when he growls, “I said. Don’t. Move.” He shoves Dean’s arms forcibly back toward the headboard. “If you’re being a brat, I’ll have to restrain you. Is that what you want, or will you behave?”

  


“Shit, I’m sorry, Cas-  _ Castiel,” _ he corrects quickly at the sudden spike of pain in both his wrists. “I can be good, I swear.  _ Please. _ I’ll be good.”

  


“Mhm, you better be.” Castiel lets go of his arms, and Dean instantly clutches at his own wrist again. It was a stupid mistake, he should’ve known. Should’ve remembered to obey Castiel’s command. But he also can’t deny that he loves the reprimanding tone in his husband’s voice, the spark in his eyes when he takes control like that.

  


The problem is, once again, that there’s a part of Dean that  _ wants  _ to be restrained. That enjoys the feeling of rope against skin, the incapability to move. The mandatory provision of letting go, of giving up control. Not making decisions.

  


But he also doesn’t want to be a brat and disobey Castiel’s orders again.

  


His train of thought dissipates into steady white noise and tingling sensations as Castiel resumes his ministrations of Dean’s body with his teeth and tongue. He’s more determined, more fervent than before; his bites more possessive, more dominant; the roll of his hips more vigorous and urgent.

  


Dean keens in pleasure on a particularly sharp bite to the hollow of his neck, soothed by the soft brush of lips against the tender spot.

  


Castiel starts traveling lower, makes his way across Dean’s chest once again, nibbling on his nipples, teeth dragging along Dean’s pectoral muscles. His hands are traveling, too; featherlight touches on the insides of Dean’s arms, down to the sides of his ribcage, leaving tantalizing tickles in their wake. 

  


Plush, chapped lips worship Dean’s stomach, warm hands cradle his hips. Thumbs hook into the waistband of Dean’s boxer briefs as Castiel glances up at him through dark lashes. Blue eyes boring into green ones, a reminder of who exactly is in charge right now.

  


The teasing thumbs keep playing with the hem of Dean’s underwear, not pulling it down, just sliding toward the front, then back to his sides again. His cock is throbbing, dying for much-needed friction, his heart trying to escape through his throat, manifesting as a needy whine, even though he bites down on his bottom lip to stifle the sound.

  


There’s a smile playing on Castiel’s lips. It’s something wicked, something fetching, something dominating.

  


Hot breath dampens the thin fabric of Dean’s boxers, and he can’t help but throw his head back into the pillow, arching his back as Castiel mouths along his hard length with a rumbling, appreciative hum.

  


“You’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s lower abdomen. “So responsive.” His hands slither from the waistband down to Dean’s upper thighs, to the back and under the fabric, cupping his ass, giving both sides a hard squeeze the same moment a torrid tongue licks at the precome seeping through the soft cotton.

  


_ “Fuck, Cas,”  _ Dean yelps, arching his back yet again, right into Castiel’s wet heat. He clasps at his own wrist like a lifeline.

  


Careful teeth graze along Dean’s shaft through his boxers, his cock twitching in anticipation, more precome oozing into the fabric.

  


“So perfect for me,” Castiel mumbles, nosing towards Dean’s thigh, biting into the skin where the cotton ends, licking over the mark he probably left there. His hands pull away from Dean’s ass and back to his hips, fingers slipping under the waistband again.

  


Dean moans when his, by now almost painful, erection gets caught in the elastic, carefully being freed, then bobbing excitedly against his abs.

  


Another pleased hum echoes through the otherwise quiet room - safe for Dean’s frantic breathing, his blood rushing in his ears - before his underwear gets pulled down his thighs... his calves... his feet... discarded somewhere on the floor with a soft thud.

  


A glance down his own body reveals blue eyes fixing him from between his feet with a hungry gaze; ready to devour, ready to take apart.

  


Castiel starts at the inside of Dean’s left ankle, wanders upwards,  _ worships,  _ brushes his gorgeous lips against electrified skin up to his knees; then repeats the same ministrations on the other leg. Tingling fingertips sometimes leading, sometimes following the damp path.

  


Dean’s entire body is vibrating by now, trembling from the strain not to move, from the agonizingly pleasant touches. The back of his head hits the pillow again the moment Castiel noses against his throbbing length - no teasing layer of clothing disrupting the sensation anymore - chuckling mischievously at his lover's apparent struggle to stay still.

  


_ “Cas.”  _ It comes out as a needy, whined plea, begging Castiel to give him some kind of relief.

  


But Castiel only chuckles again; soft puffs of air against Dean’s sweat-damp skin. “Patience, Dean,” he murmurs. “I’m planning to take my time today.”

  


Dean groans inwardly. He loves Cas like he never thought he could love anyone. He loves his teasing, loves lengthy foreplay, loves being loved. But Castiel keeps pushing his boundaries, his ability to remain patient, keeps challenging his self-control.

  


His train of thought is interrupted by wet, open-mouthed kisses that travel from his navel downwards, to his sides, caressing his hip bones, all the while skillfully avoiding his neglected cock as strong, warm hands make him go even crazier with want.

  


When Castiel finally places one of these relishing kisses onto the base of Dean’s shaft, Dean almost chokes on his own tongue in his attempt to swallow his moan. It doesn’t ease a lot of his need, but at least Castiel is starting to pay attention to the (according to Dean) far more important part of his body.

  


The next kiss is a little bit higher, the one after that right below his head - one of the sweet spots that would be incredibly relieving if only Cas applied enough pressure. But his lips are barely even touching skin.

  


Cas hums as he licks the small drop of precome from Dean’s slit, leaving him exposed to cool air within the fraction of a second, breathing warmly down his shaft again. Another hum when he sucks one of Dean’s balls into the heat of his mouth. The third hum has Dean writhing on the bed, sweat beading at his temples.

  


“Ngh, Cas,” Dean whimpers, his cock twitching rhythmically with every soft nip on his sac. Castiel is only just starting, and Dean is already a mess of sweat and anticipation and desire. Keeping his hands in place more and more difficult.

  


With hands massaging the insides of Dean’s thigh, Cas sweeps his tongue in a broad stripe from Dean’s balls up to the crown of his cock, stopping to circle it once before swallowing his entire length in one smooth motion.

  


Dean’s connected hands fly down to his mouth to muffle his ecstatic cry of sheer pleasure.

  


The wet heat enveloping his dick leaves in an instant; furious fingers force Dean’s hands off of his mouth.

  


“When I say  _ ‘Don’t move’,  _ I actually  _ mean.  _ Don’t. Fucking.  _ Move!”  _

  


Shit. Castiel is angry now. Dean has tried so hard to oblige, and yet he failed.

  


“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t-”

  


“I don’t care, Dean,” Cas says with a smug snarl, and Dean’s hands are free again, the heavy weight on his hips gone, his skin prickling in the sudden absence of body contact.

  


“No,  _ please, _ Cas,” Dean whines, begs. “Please don’t stop! I can be good, I swear. I’ll try harder, I’ll be-”

  


The drawer of their nightstand snaps closed - when did Cas even open it? - and two familiar pieces of soft, silky black cotton rope dangle between Dean’s face and gleaming blue eyes.

  


“Oh, I won’t stop,” Cas growls. “I’m just making sure you’ll obey my orders from now on.” And with that, first Dean’s left wrist, then his right, get tied to the bedposts, spreading his arms with barely any reach of play. Castiel checks the knots once more by gently pulling on the rope ends.

  


When Cas lets go, Dean releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he relaxes into the restraining bonds, letting them support the weight of his hands, his wrists, his entire arms; pleasant tension building in his shoulders - a more than welcome resemblance of pain. It’s freeing, finally being able to fully give in to his lover, to enjoy the pleasure he offers Dean even more, now that he doesn’t have to focus on holding still anymore.

  


Cas gives Dean’s right nipple an unexpected, sharp pinch, causing a surprised yelp and Dean pulling on the ropes, not moving an inch.

  


“Mmh, yes. Much better.” Cas grins at Dean, tongue wetting his lips, leaving them glistening in the soft light of their room. “I should’ve known I would need to tie you up.” One of his fingers chases a drop of sweat from Dean’s temple, then traces his cheekbone, his jaw, the side of his neck. “My needy little boy.” A quick pinch of the left nipple. “So desperate for release he can’t even hold still.”

  


“Castiel,” Dean whimpers, “ _ please.” _

  


He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s asking for, but Castiel seems to understand. Not really shocking for the one who literally saved his soul from Hell, and had to put Dean’s entire being back together piece by piece. With a last tender peck on Dean’s lips, his dark, tousled hair moves downwards again, occasionally stopping to leave more kisses along the way.

  


Castiel lifts both of Dean’s legs over his shoulders into an even more exposing position, and licks, without any prior warning or hesitation, over Dean’s hole.

  


“Mhh, I’ve missed this,” he breathes against the damp skin. “Haven’t you?”

  


_ “God, yes.”  _ Apparently Dean’s vocabulary has been reduced to a bare minimum by now. Also not much of a surprise, considering most of his blood is nowhere near his upstairs brain at the moment.

  


Dean feels Castiel’s tongue circling his already relaxed ring of muscle for several minutes; the teasing spirals from outside to inside, and back again, slowly but surely driving him insane. When his husband eventually pushes the tip of his tongue into Dean, he yanks reflexively at the ropes, making Cas hum amusedly against him before the hot, wet muscle delves into him again.

  


It’s relentless in its ministrations. Circling, pushing, pulling, in, out, stretching, and repeat. This magic tongue has had Dean writhing so many times already, but it’s never any less amazing. Cas loves eating ass almost as much as Dean loves pie, he thinks.

  


When Castiel’s tongue finds Dean’s prostate, it slows down a little, circles becoming smaller, pressure increasing slightly.

  


Dean knows Cas can only uphold that for a rather short amount of time - his tongue may be comparatively long, but it’s still an uncomfortable strain on the muscle to keep it stretched that far. Yet, it’s an amazing feeling, kindling a buzzing electric tingle from Dean’s inside along his spine, spreading through his entire body, and leaving every single nerve ending stimulated.

  


If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say he’s mastered the art of Zen or something; his soul leaving his body, hovering somewhere in the air, lighter than any feather could ever be, an out of body experience at its finest.

  


As anticipated, Cas’s tongue soon leaves him empty, more needy and prickling than before, his soul slowly sinking, seeping back into his body. Sex has never been like that, never been as  _ naked,  _ as fulfilling, as  _ perfect,  _ as it is with Cas. Dean knows he can trust him entirely, and that’s more he ever had with anyone before.

  


A cold silicone ring gets rolled onto his cock, right as he finally starts to feel like he’s back in his own skin again.

  


“What-”

  


“Shh, sweetheart,” Cas hushes him, smirking at Dean with a wicked smile. “I told you I’d be taking my time today. You know your safeword if you need it.” With a teasing kiss on his aching dick Cas flicks open the cap of the lube he must’ve grabbed while Dean was floating away.

  


There’s only a brief moment before a slicked-up finger pushes into him, aiming right at his prostate.

  


_ “Fuck!”  _ It’s all Dean can manage before a more than satisfied moan cuts off his swearing. He’d deny ever making pathetic sounds like that, but right now he doesn’t give a single flying fuck.

  


With every purposefully aimed stroke over the most sensitive spot in his body, he tears harder at his restraints, but he doesn’t even realize that anymore. He’s writhing, moaning, panting, as Cas keeps up with his ministrations, circling again, rubbing, pulling, stroking, caressing, fucking  _ worshipping _ his cock with his lips and tongue, leaving Dean a molten mess, slowly oozing into the mattress.

  


“God, I love you so much,” he hears Cas mumble around his throbbing length, feels the vibrations in his scalp. It doesn’t take long until he’s about to come - the only thing holding him on the edge the tight rubber cockring. It’s so much, and not enough. Just a little more, a little harder, a little deeper, a little faster, a little-

  


Slick fingers leave him in the blink of an eye, hot lips and tongue gone, his wet skin electrified, pulsing, but nothing more.

  


Dean’s babbled nonsense gets swallowed by Cas’s swollen lips, hot palms sliding up the sides of his torso, tickling, up his arms, tingling, to his tied wrists, unmuting.

  


“How do your hands feel? Your shoulders?” Blue eyes fix him in an intense, aroused stare.

  


It takes Dean a few seconds to find his tongue and jaw in the right place again. “I- ’m fine. ’m good.”

  


“Yes you are,” comes a hummed response against his pulse point. “You’re so good, Dean. So perfect for me. Such a good boy.”

  


And with that, the plush, pink, cushiony lips travel down to his cock again, much-needed heat enveloping him once more. The slick finger is now twice as wide. Two fingers, twice as good. Twice as intense. Twice as relentless.

  


The fingers go straight for his prostate again, applying just the right pressure, just the right drag, just the right pace.

  


It’s so loud in Dean’s head, so full of his own ragged, rushed breathing, his pulse pounding in his ears like thunder on speed, lightning through his veins, head tingling from lack of oxygen, or maybe the vibrations of his own moaning. He doesn’t know anymore. It doesn’t matter. It’s perfect, it’s bliss, it’s perfect bliss, it’s- It’s  _ Cas. _

  


It’s Cas’s fingers that get him on the brink of a possibly earth-shattering orgasm again, but there’s still the too tight circle around the base of his cock, staving off his much desired, much deserved release. But he isn’t allowed yet.

  


He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he’s screaming by now, his entire body on fire, molten lava inside him making him liquify, only held together by his tense skin - a restricting vessel of pure happiness, in danger of imploding.

  


The slick, perfect, still not sufficing fingers leave him again, making room for something bigger, something unexpected, but not unfamiliar, slowly being pushed into him. Something almost as wide, almost as long as Cas’s cock - but not quite. It’s not  _ right. _

  


Castiel’s tongue lavishes Dean’s cock, the insides of his thighs, dips into his belly button, along his abs, his pecks, his neck, his jaw, his mouth, his tongue, while his cock is trapped between his own stomach and Cas’s chiseled body dragging against him with need.

  


Time slows down - heck,  _ slowed down, _ minutes, or hours, probably  _ ages,  _ ago - stopping entirely, possibly even going in reverse, when there’s a soft  _ click  _ and the not-quite-Cas object starts vibrating in a constant buzz.

  


“Ca _ ah-”  _ he attempts, but the name turns into a moan that gets stuck in Dean’s throat, in Castiel’s mouth, in Castiel’s grin. “I-  _ Fuck.  _ I can’t- This-  _ Please…” _

  


He doesn’t know how much time passes exactly, his heart an unrelenting staccato in his ribcage, trying to escape into other dimensions, other spheres, other planes of existence; his brain a puddle of useless gray matter; his body long gone under Castiel’s fingers and hard muscles for at least twice an eternity.

  


For only a moment that flies past as soon as it came, Dean contemplates using his safeword - he’s about to pass out at the overstimulation of his prostate, he’s sure about that one thing - but he decides against it, because the same moment this thought crosses his molten mind, Cas turns off the vibrator, but leaves it where it is, a comfortable pressure inside him, against his sweet spot.

  


“Dean,” Cas starts, facing his husband with an awed expression, blue eyes glinting in the barely-there morning sunlight that seeps through the curtains of their room.

  


_ Dean.  _ It reverberates within his mind, entered through his ears, bouncing off the inside of his skull, echoing in the emptiness of his brain, resounding through every single one of his bones, up to the tips of his toes, fingers, leaving every atom of his body drenched in love and admiration.

  


_ “Ah- Lo- I- Shi- I- Iloveyou,”  _ Dean manages at the third, fourth, fifth attempt. Trying to catch his breath is difficult, downright impossible, actually.

  


“I love you, too,” he hears Cas mumble into the crook of his neck, far gone himself, but not quite as far as Dean is. 

  


Warm hands massage his shoulders, his upper arms, forearms, wrists around the rope. “Any numbness, tingling, pain?”

  


Dean shakes his head frantically, hair scraping against the bedding. He bends his fingers, pumping blood back through his burning veins. But his fingers are, indeed, still there, not having left his body yet. He huffs a breathless laugh, as he says, “I mean, I’m kinda, I mean,  _ everything  _ tingles, but that’s- it’s good. A good tingling.”

  


Castiel smiles as Dean stumbles over his words, looking brazenly proud of himself. “You’re doing so well, Dean. So amazing.” His tongue tangles with Dean’s again, swirling, loving. Tender bites on his lower lip.

  


The outline of Cas’s rock-hard erection drags against Dean’s own once more, reminding him of the one-sidedness of this morning’s activities. Cas has been great,  _ amazing,  _ and always gives without even daring to ask for anything in return.

  


For about the five billionth time, Dean wonders what he’s done to deserve someone like Castiel. For Cas to love him. To have married him.  _ Dean.  _ A broken man who had never been anything more than a means to an end. A soldier. An instrument. A tiny little cogwheel in Chuck’s grand machine he called his final masterpiece - the greatest story ever written.

  


Dean desperately wants to give something back to the love of his life.  _ Needs  _ to.

  


“Can I-” His voice betrays him, so he clears his throat, swallows. “Do you want me to do something about that?” he finally manages, rubbing his thigh up against Cas’s hard cock.

  


There’s another hum as a response, accompanied by a sly smirk.

  


Castiel climbs off of Dean to slowly pull down his own underwear before he knee-walks up the mattress again. But he doesn’t stop at Dean’s hips, keeps shuffling higher instead.

  


At the sight of the little bead of precome leaking from the head of Castiel’s dick, glistening deliciously in the soft morning light, Dean has a hard time not to start drooling.

  


Strong fingers grasp his hair and pull his face away from Castiel’s groin, less gently than the entire time before, until Dean is fixed by ocean blue, flashing with power.

  


“You just want to have a taste, don’t you?” Castiel growls in his trademark grating sex voice. “Want to swallow my cock. Need to be filled up entirely.”

  


The sudden buzz coming from the vibrator has Dean whining again, leaning into Castiel’s tight grip on his hair, trying for an affirmative nod. The cathartic sting on his scalp something freeing, something alleviating. The rhythmic jolts something vertiginous.

  


“Does my pretty little cockslut want to suck me off? Do you want me to make me yours? Make you  _ mine?” _ Castiel’s voice is impossibly deeper than before, especially on the last word.

  


Dean’s jaw hangs agape, his arms lax in his restraints, his breath coming in ragged pants.

  


The authority in Castiel’s voice, the fire in his eyes make Dean wither even more. “Do you want to get me nice and wet for your tight little hole, Dean?” he continues, not leaving Dean the chance to speak up. With his free hand he grabs his cock, teases it along Dean’s slack bottom lip, smearing his precome for Dean to lick away on instinct. “Tell me how much my good boy wants to be fucked. Tell me what you need.”

  


“I need-” Dean breaks off as the slight shifting of his hips connects the vibrator with his prostate again, pleasure almost bordering on discomfort. He tries to suppress his moan, focuses on holding still, on Castiel’s cock in front of him, starts the next attempt. “I need your cock.  _ Please.” _

  


“Please  _ what?”  _ Castiel growls. Ocean blue whirled up by a hurricane that threatens to swallow Dean whole. 

  


“Please,  _ Castiel. _ Please, I- I need you,” he rushes out, licks his lips at the sight of Castiel giving himself a slow stroke. “I need you so bad.” 

  


The storm calms into a satisfied, nevertheless heavy swell. “If you ask so nicely already,” Castiel purrs, a proud smile on his lips, a thumb stroking Dean’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, “then my good boy’s gonna get what he needs.”

  


With that, he drags the head of his cock over Dean’s lips once more before he slowly pushes into his mouth. He’s careful, makes sure not to choke Dean while he goes deeper. Castiel is kneeling over Dean’s chest, his hand moves to the wall to steady himself, the other still at the back of Dean’s head. Not pushing, not pulling, just holding him, carding his fingers tenderly through the short strands.

  


Dean loves this. The scent of Castiel, the taste, the weight on his tongue. He loves the moment when Cas stops pushing into him, and just lets Dean do whatever he pleases.

  


And Dean loves to take Castiel apart with his tongue and his mouth, his throat. Loves how his dominant features crumble in pleasure. Loves the moans that leave Castiel’s chest. Loves the twitching, the pulsing, when he sucks particularly hard. Loves the shivers that run through his abs. Loves the little gasps for air, the tremor in the fingers grasping his hair when he swallows around him, when he hums tingling vibrations around him.

  


And he loves the praises that fall from Castiel’s mouth. Indulges in them. Savors them.

  


“You’re so good, Dean,” Castiel breathes with his head tilted back. “So good for me. So good.”

  


_ So good, Dean. You’re perfect. You’re mine. I love you. _

  


It doesn’t take long until Dean feels Castiel stiffen even more. He knows Castiel is about to come, and he wants to give this to him, wants him to let go.

  


But Castiel, as so often, has other plans. He pulls out of Dean’s mouth, looking at him with nothing but reverence in his eyes. With the hand he used to prop himself against the wall, he swipes the saliva off Dean’s lips.

  


“You’re so beautiful with your mouth full of me,” he says, letting his thumb slip from Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth where Dean instantly circles his tongue around it. He pulls out a few seconds after, smirking at the little sounds of protest Dean makes as he chases it. But his finger is replaced by Castiel’s lips, pushing eagerly against Dean’s, devouring him, probably tasting himself on Dean’s tongue.

  


Out of nowhere, the vibrator ups its frequency, and Dean chokes out a startled, loud gasp into Cas’s mouth.

  


“Fuck, Cas, I- I can’t- Please…”

  


“Is it too much?” Castiel asks, a hint of concern in the crease of his eyebrows.

  


Dean shakes his head vehemently. “No. I mean, yes, but, it’s just, it’s not-  _ ah -  _ it’s not  _ you. _ I need-  _ Fuck.” _ He swallows dryly between two moans, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. “Fuck me, Cas,  _ please.” _

  


Castiel grins victoriously, then licks into Dean’s mouth once more. “You know how much I love it when you beg,” he growls into his ear, then moves off of Dean and to the side to grab the small bottle of lube that apparently rolled next to Dean’s hip.

  


The vibrations stop when Castiel reaches a hand to Dean’s ass, and, due to his blissed-out state, Dean barely even realizes when the toy gets pulled out of him.

  


The only thing he does realize is the sudden feeling of emptiness that makes him tear at his restraints in frustration as he tries to catch his breath.

  


But Castiel is right there, hovering above him, delving into Dean’s mouth with a needy groan. His hands are hot, possessive, just on the right side of rough as they travel from Dean’s upper arms down his sides, then grab his thighs to spread them apart.

  


Dean impatiently cants his hips to rub his aching cock against Cas’s thigh, but strong hands on his hips push him down into the mattress.

  


“Oh no, Dean. You’re gonna come on my cock, or you don’t come at all.”

  


If it wasn’t for the cock ring still around the base of his shaft, Dean would be coming from these words alone right about now. These words said in this low, gravelly growl, combined with the icy blue glare boring into his very soul. And well, the agonizingly long edging did its bit, too.

  


“Can you do that for me, Dean?” Cas - not asks -  _ commands.  _ “Can my pretty boy come on my cock if I get that little ring off of you?” His thumb tracing Dean’s hip bone, drawing constellations based on freckles.

  


Dean nods. Tries not to swallow his tongue.

  


A downright animalistic growl leaves Castiel’s throat. Constellations are shattered by tightly gripping fingers.

  


“Yes!” Dean keens. “Yes, Castiel. I can come on your cock.” He hopes Castiel can see the certainty, the promise, in his eyes.

  


“Good boy.”

  


The cock ring is gone within seconds, along with the painful throb, and Dean has to bite his lip to stop himself from coming from the freeing sensation alone. He pushes strained breaths through his nose, trying to calm himself down.

  


Considerate as always, Castiel gives him the time he needs. Perks of being with a partner long enough to know each other inside and out. Literally.

  


The thumb leaves Dean’s hip and trails along his bottom lip, is greeted by his greedy tongue.

  


There is a wolfish smile on Castiel’s lips. Safe for Dean’s heartbeat and ragged breaths, it’s completely silent in the room.

  


Castiel just looks at Dean. Hovering above his head. Blue locked with green. The hunger in his eyes is louder than any sound could ever be.

  


_ “Cas,”  _ Dean whines. It sounds just as needy as he feels. “Come on.”

  


A low chuckle. A glint on the surface of the sea.

  


“What do you need, Dean? Tell me. Tell me exactly-” Castiel bows down, speaks right into Dean’s ear, “-what you need.”

  


“Fuck me,” Dean whispers. “Please, Castiel. Please fuck me.”

  


The rewarding kiss has Dean melting into the mattress again, so he doesn’t notice Castiel lubing up. He doesn’t notice the world disappearing around him. Or the ropes digging into his wrists.

  


He does notice the hot tip of Castiel’s cock slowly breaching him.

  


He does notice every single inch of Castiel’s length sliding in.

  


He does notice Castiel bottoming out with a soft moan against Dean’s collar bone.

  


He does notice finally feeling complete again.

  


“I love you,” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s neck, and then he starts moving. It’s slow, controlled. Every movement precise and measured, hitting Dean in all the right places. It’s just not quite  _ enough. _

  


Dean wraps his legs around Castiel’s hips, his heels digging into the hard muscle of his husband’s ass at every thrust. He tries to increase the intensity, tries to hurry him up just a little, but Castiel must know what he’s trying to do because he’s having none of it. Keeps going slowly. Keeps fucking him deep. Takes his time.

  


It’s been months, if not years, since Cas had been as teasing and patient, almost merciless, as he is now. The mirth in his eyes as he takes Dean apart. Knowing exactly how much this is driving Dean crazy.

  


“You’re beautiful,” he moans into Dean’s mouth as he pulls out just enough for his cock head to tease Dean’s rim.

  


“So perfect for me,” he breathes against Dean’s cheek as he pushes in again, dragging along his sweet spot.

  


“You’re everything,” he promises, looking right into Dean’s eyes as his hips collide with Dean’s ass.

  


Dean answers in gasps, moans, arching back to meet Castiel’s movements.

  


The pace Castiel sets stays the same for an awfully long amount of time. It’s good, it really is. It just isn’t enough. 

  


After what feels like an eternity, Castiel starts breathing heavier, thrusts impossibly deeper, grips Dean stronger, words of praise getting stuck in his throat, eye contact like an exchange of souls. But nothing close to getting close himself, all the while Dean struggles to breathe because Cas nails his prostate on every goddamn thrust.

  


But he doesn’t let him come. Reads him like an open book. Every ever so minuscule quirk of Dean’s facial muscles, of his respondent body, a telltale - ready for Castiel’s senses.

  


Every single time Dean thinks he can finally let go, Castiel slows down just a mite. Smirks at Dean’s despair.

  


The urge to touch becomes unbearable. The need to feel Castiel’s muscular back moving under the tips of his fingers. The fulfillment of having his husband encased in his arms, pressed against his chest. Connected skin from head to toe.

  


Castiel rolls his hips, hard, moans, bites into Dean’s shoulder.

  


It’s still not enough.

  


“Cas-” Pleasure spikes on the next grind. “Cas, I- Please, I- I need to, I wanna feel, touch... I-” His breath is torn away by the way an electric shiver spreading from his prostate up to his brain. “Ropes. Untie- I gotta,  _ please-” _

  


Pleasure stops. Heavy breathing fills his ears. It’s not his own, though. It’s Castiel’s. 

  


Then he feels shaky fingers on his tingling wrist. Feels silky cotton dragging over his tender skin. Weightless hands hovering downwards.

  


Feels empty.

  


Feels floating.

  


“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Castiel asks breathlessly. Massages Dean’s shoulders, upper arms, forearms, insides of his palms.

  


Dean links their fingers, beams at ocean blue. “I love you.”

  


“I love you, too.”

  


Warm hands leave Dean’s, snake around his back.

  


On instinct, Dean brings his hands around his husband’s shoulders, leans into a hungry kiss. Gets lost in strong arms lifting him up as Castiel sits back on his heels, dragging Dean with him until he’s nestled in his lap.

  


Calloused fingers trail around Dean’s waist, settle on his hips, guide them upwards.

  


Castiel’s hair is soft and slightly damp from sweat in Dean’s hands. Castiel’s cock hard and throbbing as it sinks into Dean once more.

  


He can feel hot breath ghosting across his neck, teeth biting down into his muscle, a soothing tongue lessening the pain, soft lips caressing his pulse point.

  


Heat surrounds them, fire licking at their insides.

  


When Castiel’s hands travel from Dean’s hips to his back, up to his neck, his head, pulling him down into another searing kiss, Dean feels like he might combust any second.

  


The new angle doesn’t allow for very deep thrusts, but Dean feels closer to his husband than ever. They keep grinding against, into each other. Slowly. Passionately.

  


Castiel noses along Dean’s jaw, then locks eyes with him again.

  


He doesn’t have to say it. Neither one does. They know what that exchange of looks means.

  


It means love.

  


Unconditional. Absolute. Forever. 

  


Castiel’s cock is constantly pressing into Dean’s prostate, leaving him high on endorphins and whatever other hormones are going haywire in Dean’s brain.

  


Dean doesn’t care. He stopped thinking minutes, hours ago. He just lives. Enjoys. Breathes. 

  


Out. In. Grind. Moan. Up. Down.

  


If Castiel didn’t hold him closely, Dean might float away, dissolve into atoms, become the air Castiel needs to breathe.

  


“God, I love you,” Dean pants into dark, tousled hair, and holds onto hard back muscles, nails catching on skin.

  


Castiel cradles Dean’s cheek to look him in the eye again, canting his hips upwards, eliciting another breathless gasp from his husband. “I-  _ fuck,  _ I love-” A kiss to Dean’s chin- “Iloveyou.”

  


Dean’s cock slides between their sweat-coated bodies, against Castiel’s stomach muscles, brings Dean to the edge - but not ready to let go yet. It’s not enough yet. Not quite.

  


The hands that grab his hips are probably,  _ hopefully, _ leaving bruises. The pleasure-pain tempts him to float away again, but keeps him in place at the same time.

  


“You’re so-” Castiel starts, slams Dean’s hip down onto his cock “-beautiful like that.” Another hard grind. “So perfect,” he tells him right into his face.

  


How Cas is still able to talk will remain a mystery to Dean. Dean can’t produce more than stumbled attempts of sounds anymore, lost in the sea that is Castiel.

  


The breathing in his ears becomes more and more ragged and erratic. He hopes Castiel is as close as he is himself because he can’t possibly hold on much longer. He needs to come.

  


Castiel’s teeth are grazing upwards now, painting a picture of love on Dean’s neck. “Dean,” he whispers, pants. “Dean, look at me.”

  


Dean does.

  


“I love you,” Castiel tells him once more. “I love you so much.” It barely reaches Dean’s ears. “Keep looking at me.”

  


“I-” Dean breathes- “I am. I’m looking.”

  


Castiel smiles. It’s not teasing anymore, not a smirk, no mirth. It’s trust and comfort. “Come for me, Dean. Come with me.”

  


So Dean does.

  


And it’s enough.

  


He finally lets go. Follows Castiel’s order. Comes hard between their stomachs. Coats their skin in hot white spurts. Clenches around him. Holds onto Castiel’s back like a lifeline while crying out into his lover’s mouth.

  


Castiel comes with him. Muffles a guttural groan against Dean’s lips, and comes deep inside him.

  


Dean feels his husband pulsating, keeps grinding on his lap, rides out every second of their conjoined orgasm.

  


It lasts far longer than Dean ever thought possible.

  


There are tears rolling down his cheeks, caught by Cas’s fingers, mixing with their combined sweat.

  


Everything tingles; from his scalp to the tips of his toes. His spine, his guts, the tip of his nose. Every single nerve ending, every cell in his body.

  


He can still feel his husband’s cock inside him, slowly going soft as both of them are catching their breath.

  


Cas’s palms are slowly stroking along Dean’s back as he’s planting soft kisses across his chest, mumbling nonsense words into his skin.

  


“You were amazing,” are the first words Dean can make out in his dazzled state. “Perfect. I love you.”

  


It takes Dean another two or three, maybe twelve deep breaths, to respond with a murmured “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  


There’s that deep chuckle again. Not teasing anymore. No more stalling. Just a sated sound.

  


The most beautiful sound to Dean’s ears.

  


He joins his husband’s chuckling. It’s alleviating, calming in a way.

  


They share the sweetest, most tender kiss they’ve had in a long time. They’re here. They’re together. They’re happy.

  


Nothing else matters.

  


After another while of gentle kisses they eventually part, Castiel slowly easing out of Dean, sinking into the mattress next to him.

  


Their breathing is still somewhat erratic but gets more regular the more minutes pass.

  


There’s cooling come on Dean’s stomach, and more oozing out of Dean’s hole. The grunt that leaves him is involuntary.

  


“Here,” Cas says, and hands Dean a wet wipe - probably from their nightstand where they keep their supplies.

  


“Thanks.” Dean wants to take it, but Cas wipes him down gently, albeit perfunctorily, then tosses the wipes into the garbage can next to their bed. He gives Dean a kiss before he settles back into his pillow.

  


They smile at each other. Properly sated, giddy and happy.

  


Cas reaches for Dean’s hand, intertwines their fingers. He turns his head on the pillow.

  


There’s a renewed smirk on his face. “I take it you’re awake now?”

  


Dean chuckles wearily. Scrapes his hair against the pillow when he nods.

  


“Good,” Cas says. He leans over to place a chaste peck on Dean’s swollen lips before giving him the most self-contented smile Dean has ever seen. “Then you can get up now, and bring me some coffee.”


End file.
